


take this too far (so we can see if it is far enough)

by robokittens



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: (like medium Dom/sub honestly), Anal Sex, Bad Dirty Talk, Clothed Sex, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, First Time, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Praise Kink, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 15:12:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17942081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/pseuds/robokittens
Summary: "C'mon," Pat says, and he doesn't bother to keep the hint of whine out of his voice. Jonny's behind Dylan, so it's fine; Dylan can't see how incredibly fond Jonny looks, it's not ruining his whole scary top vibe or whatever. "I thought you were gonna fuck me.""Patrick," Jonny says, and his voice is steel-smooth and a little disapproving but Pat knows him better than that. Still, Pat quiets down, settles for looking at Jonny through heavy-lidded eyes. They're putting on a show here, after all.





	take this too far (so we can see if it is far enough)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reserve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/gifts).



> so my triumphant return to hockey rpf was gonna be some very soft alex/dylan fic but then i was like, "that's really not in the spirit of reserve's birthday!!!" and now it's uhhh a week past reserve's birthday and here is entirely too much porn instead.
> 
> in a better world, this would take place somewhere in the middle of a much longer fic where jonny takes dylan under his wing to teach him to be a good Dom and also some hockey stuff. as it is … well, roll with me here.
> 
> anyway!!!! thanks a million to seducerhymeswithdeduce for the beta, and happy birthday reserve, ilu 💖

Jonny's been talking to Dylan in the living room for long enough that Pat is starting to doze off.

It's — Jonny's bed is _comfy_ , okay. And if Pat is in it that generally means one of two things is about to happen, and right now, with the faint buzz of the TV still on and the low tones of Jonny's voice barely audible over it through the open door, the lights dim and Pat curled up all alone on Jonny's big bed, his body's leaning toward the latter.

It hasn't been a long night per se, but it has felt excruciatingly drawn-out. They'd had Dylan over for dinner and then they'd watched a recent-ish episode of SNL that Jonny had recorded, Pat tucked into Jonny's side with Jonny's arm slung over his shoulders, and Dylan on the same couch but just too far away. It's not like there'd been any doubt about what he'd been invited over for, but — he was hesitant. 

And that's fair, Pat supposes. When he and Jonny had first started things, it had been … thrilling, but in a roller coaster sort of way, his heart and his stomach both constantly in his throat. And they'd both been new to this, both feeling their way around the edges of this new relationship, of this new _kind_ of relationship. Coming into something established like this, that's got to be a different sort of scary.

Pat's eyes are shut but somehow he can still tell that the doorway darkens, and when he opens them it's to see Jonny silhouetted there, Dylan's form behind him somehow even taller, even broader. Pat's breath catches in his throat.

"About time," he says, and he's aiming for nonchalant but he can hear the impatience in his tone. There's enough light for him to see the quirk of Jonny's lips.

There's enough light for him to see Jonny's hand, too, low on Dylan's back as he guides him through the doorway, through the bedroom, to where a chair pilfered from the kitchen is set up and waiting for him. 

(They'd debated about it, earlier — would a more comfortable chair be better? Would Dylan notice that the kitchen table was missing a chair, and if that set him on edge, would that be a good thing or a bad thing? Jonny was, as always, persuasive.)

Dylan drops into it, heavy. Pat shifts on the bed, onto his stomach; he can't quite tell if Dylan is staring at his ass, snugly contained in a pair of boxer-briefs, but he's definitely not meeting Pat's eyes.

Jonny's standing behind the chair; his hands are on the back of it, and Pat's sure from Dylan's posture that he can feel the press of Jonny's fingers. _Jonny_ is meeting Pat's eyes; he smiles, for real, and Pat smiles back. Slowly, Dylan's mouth curls into a nervous smile of its own.

Pat's still watching the curve of Dylan's lips when Jonny starts talking again.

"I'm going to fuck Patrick," he says, voice low and steady. "You're going to watch. You are not going to touch — me, or him. Or yourself. Got it?"

"Got it," Dylan says. His eyes are wide, but his voice is measured, determined. His hands are fists on his thighs; Pat gets distracted, momentarily, by the breadth of his knuckles.

"Are you going to be good?" Jonny asks, and even though it's not directed at him Pat can't help but shiver. "Or will I have to tie you down?"

There's — _something_ in Dylan's eyes at that, something to the way his posture shifts. Pat's not sure what the name for it is, but he recognizes it. He sure knows the feeling.

"No," Dylan says, after too long a pause. Jonny's still smiling, but it's not quite at Pat anymore, and it's a little bit wicked.

Pat shifts on the bed, stretches his toes out and pulls his ass taut before popping it out again. It's a little showy, but it works; behind Dylan, Jonny resettles his weight, and his eyes are back on Pat. Now Pat is pretty sure where Dylan is looking, too.

"C'mon," Pat says, and he doesn't bother to keep the hint of whine out of his voice. Jonny's behind Dylan, so it's fine; Dylan can't see how incredibly fond Jonny looks, it's not ruining his whole scary top vibe or whatever. "I thought you were gonna fuck me."

"Patrick," Jonny says, and his voice is steel-smooth and a little disapproving but Pat knows him better than that. Still, Pat quiets down, settles for looking at Jonny through heavy-lidded eyes. They're putting on a show here, after all.

That's the only part of this that has Pat worried, really. Dylan's a pretty sure bet, at this point; even if this is a one-time deal, even if he can't handle it or if it just (unlikely as it may be) turns out he isn't interested, he's not going to say anything to anyone he shouldn't say it to. And honestly — Pat is pretty damn sure he's interested.

And it's not like they haven't had threesomes before. Not often; Jonny is — not paranoid, but practical, and Pat is willing to admit he's selfish, that sharing Jonny can be a little much for him. But they've done it; it's fun, sometimes.

This isn't sharing, though. This is … performing.

And yeah, Pat has people staring at him pretty much every night, evaluating his body and the way that it moves, the way that it works. But that's hockey. That's _natural_. Having someone watch him, evaluate the way his body moves _for Jonny_ , that's something else.

(Also, Jonny's never let them make a sex tape, which is reasonable given the circumstances but still unfair. How is Pat supposed to know how he looks to other people, if he can't see himself?)

And then Jonny's on the bed with him, his fingers drawing patterns on Pat's thigh, and Pat stops worrying. 

It's almost embarrassing, how easily he soothes under Jonny's touch. It's not all the time, obviously, he can compartmentalize; he's not dropping into subspace mid-celly. But like this, quiet and calm with Jonny touching him just so … His eyes flutter shut, and he can hear the tiniest hitch in his own breathing before it evens out.

Jonny hears it, too. "Good," he murmurs. "So good for me."

He strokes down Pat's back, gentle, then smacks his ass barely hard enough to feel. It must sound worse than it is; Pat can hear Dylan's sharp inhale from across the room.

"Up," Jonny says, and then laughs when Pat arches his back, pops his ass up in the air. "No, up," he says. "I wanna strip the comforter."

Even as fuzzy-headed as Pat's already starting to feel, a little embarrassment makes it way through: he should have thought of that. Easier to clean the sheets, after all, and there's … a good chance the bed is gonna get messy tonight. But Jonny doesn't sound upset, just amused as Pat climbs off the bed.

Jonny, of course, just shoves the blankets gracelessly off the bed and to the floor, but the time he doesn't spend folding them is enough time for Pat to get a good look at Dylan. His hands are still clenched against his thighs, but that's nothing compared to the set of his jaw. Pat wonders fleetingly if there's a spare mouth guard laying around Jonny's apartment.

But then Jonny's hands are on his shoulders and guiding him back onto the bed, and then Pat is flat on his back on the soft sheets with Jonny looming over him, straddling his hips.

"How are you feeling?" Jonny asks. His voice is so quiet that Pat can barely hear it, even though they're so close together. There's no way Dylan can hear. Pat doesn't bother to answer, just tips his head forward and lets his mouth go a little slack, and Jonny takes his cue to kiss him.

It's sweet, gentle, the way Jonny almost always is unless Pat pushes him — it doesn't matter what else they're doing; Pat could be dripping sweat and jizz and his own blood and Jonny would still kiss him like his mom was watching.

But that's fine, right now, because that means that Pat can focus on the scratch of Jonny's jeans on his own bare thighs, on the way Jonny's stubble rubs against his cheeks, on the way he can hear Dylan's breathing growing harsher.

"I don't think it's me you have to worry about," Pat mumbles against Jonny's lips, and Jonny's breath fans hot across his face as he laughs.

"He's fine," Jonny says, certain, and ducks back in to kiss along Pat's jaw before capturing his mouth again. His hands skate down Pat's sides, just enough to make him squirm, fingers hooking into the waistband of Pat's underwear and tugging. It takes a moment for them to get Pat's underwear off, but it's worth it for the noise that Dylan makes, a sort of choked-off gasp.

Pat quirks an eyebrow at Jonny, but he just grins back at him, presses a quick kiss to Pat's collarbone. Now Jonny's jeans feel rough against Pat's _dick_ , which is a whole different sensation, and Pat can't quite stop himself from squirming underneath it.

"You gonna," he manages, and tugs lightly on Jonny's shirt; Jonny doesn't say anything, but Pat can feel his shrug. Which is — fine. If Jonny wants to keep his clothes on. That's really just fine. (Jonny's body is the best part of the whole show, if you ask Pat, so Dylan's really missing out on that aspect, but Pat's not running things here.)

He manages one more look over at Dylan, who's still staring intently — it's hard to tell in this lighting but his eyes look dark, and he's abandoned his stiff posture from earlier, leaning in just slightly. Not comfortable, not yet. Just intense. And then Jonny bites down on his earlobe and Pat's eyes slip shut.

The only, _only_ reason Pat ever wishes for the post-season to come faster is that Jonny can bite him harder, mark him up more. It's a guilty wish every time, and he shoves it down as quickly as it comes, and then Jonny wraps his big hands around Pat's thighs and _pushes_ , bends him right in half, and Pat forgets he was thinking about anything at all.

He hadn't thought about the bedclothes, maybe, but he was prepared otherwise — there's lube sitting out on the nightstand, and a strip of condoms; he and Jonny don't use them anymore, haven't for a long time, but … tonight could go a few different ways. Jonny had figured it would be better to have them on hand, just in case, so he'd picked some up. Better safe than sorry. Jonny grabs the former and Pat can't suppress a shiver when he hears the cap pop, even before Jonny touches him.

Jonny's fingers are chilled when they press against the inside of Pat's thigh, and Pat shivers again. He grabs the backs of his own legs and pulls his knees closer to his chest. If he's on display here, he wants to look _good_.

The way Jonny's finger circles around his rim feels nice, soothing almost; the way it slips inside so easily feels nicer.

"Pat —" Jonny says, shocked, like it's been punched out of him. 

Pat can't help but grin, just a little. "You left me alone for so _long_ ," he says. "What was I supposed to do?"

Jonny shakes his head; he's trying to keep himself from grinning back, but Pat knows all his tells. Then Jonny pulls his finger out and presses back in with _three_ and Pat stops smiling, his jaw dropping into a loud moan, his head tipping back.

Pat can hear himself saying something but it's not really words at this point, maybe something halfway to Jonny's name, maybe _yes_ or _harder_ ; maybe it's just sounds. But he hears Jonny loud and clear when Jonny leans back in against him, the wet sound of lube on Jonny's fingers, _inside_ Pat, the way Jonny murmurs "so good, so good," voice strained with arousal but sounding almost proud.

Pat exhales deeply, sharp breaths forced out of him by Jonny's fingers but also by a sense of relief, letting go of worry he hadn't even realized he'd been holding in: concern that he was doing this _wrong_ , that — he'd figured that Jonny would have said if he wanted Pat on his best behavior, if they were supposed to be demonstrating some sort of perfect Dom/sub thing. But still. Maybe it was some sort of test; maybe he was just supposed to _know_.

The way Jonny is looking at him now, though, eyes dark and warm, Pat can tell Jonny thinks he's doing just fine.

Fuck, Pat loves him _so much_.

"Fuck me," he gasps out. It's not quite _I love you_ , but he doesn't want to get too soppy with Dylan in the room. Needs the kid to still respect him in the morning, and all that.

It's some crazy contortionist shit for Jonny to lean all the way over Pat's body, Pat's legs bent up between them, and fasten his mouth to Pat's but God bless the yoga, honestly, and the move drives his fingers forward in a way that forces a whine out of Pat that's pitched high enough to be a little embarrassing. 

Jonny pulls his fingers out, making Pat whine again, and sits back on his heels; Pat looks up at him, wide-eyed. He's still _dressed_ , grey t-shirt going a little damp with sweat, and those jeans have to be uncomfortable at this point.

"C'mon," Pat says, but Jonny's already unfastening his jeans, the zip louder than it should be in the still of the room. It seems like Pat has barely had time to blink before Jonny's pushing down his underwear and getting his dick out.

He's not sure if Dylan makes a sound at the sight of Jonny's dick the way he did Pat's, because he can't hear anything over the groan he lets out himself. It's fucking embarrassing — should be embarrassing, how hard up he still is for Jonny. How much he loves Jonny's dick. But here they are, all these years in and he's still crazy about it. Crazy about Jonny, obviously, but his dick sure is something special.

"You ready, baby?" Jonny asks. He's speaking up, talking to Dylan as much as to Pat (although Pat is pretty sure the pet name is just for him).

Pat smiles up at him, digs his fingers into his own thighs and spreads his legs a little wider.

"Show me whatcha got," he says, the end of it going a little breathy as Jonny does just that, tapping the head of his dick against Pat's hole. Pat's slick enough, stretched enough from their combined efforts that it's not much work for Jonny to press his way in, even without any more lube. If it's still a little rough, well, Pat's not complaining.

" _Yeah_ ," Jonny breathes out, pushing in and in until he can't move any further, hipbones braced against Pat's ass.

His head falls back as Jonny starts thrusting into him, slow and steady, the thick drag of his dick inside Pat almost overwhelming. Jonny feels so big inside him. He's never gotten used to it, hopefully never will.

He tips his head to one side, panting against the sheets, and watches Dylan watch him: he's hunched forward now, curled over himself with an almost pained expression on his face as his eyes track the slide of Jonny's dick. Pat can't say he blames him. 

The worst part about this position is that Pat absolutely can't get any friction on his own dick. Plus he's gonna be sore all over tomorrow, but it's not like he's not used to that, and … it's definitely worth it. Would be worth it even if he didn't love the ache and the burn, which he does; worth it, if nothing else, for the determined look on Jonny's face, the way he bites his lip and narrows his eyes as he drives into Pat over and over.

God, he's so fucking lucky. That he gets everything else, and he still gets to have _this_? Insane.

"Jonny," he says, and even over the squelch of lube and the slap of skin on skin, his voice sounds so soft. Jonny's answering smile is just as sweet, but the way he moves over Pat, inside him, when he leans forward to press a tender kiss to his forehead … that's something else. A shudder wracks Pat's entire body, and he moans loudly.

"Yeah," Jonny says, encouraging. "That's right, baby. You want it — nngh — like that?"

" _Please_ ," Pat manages.

"You're so good," Jonny says. He's still pressed up so close to Pat but he manages to get a hand between them and wrap it around Pat's dick. It's a loose grip, and more of a tease than anything with the way he can't really fuck up into it, but it's the most pressure he's had on his dick in a while and he lets out another loud groan.

"That's right," Jonny says again. He sounds smug, looks smug, or as smug as he can with his eyes all strung-out and fuck-dumb glassy. 

He leans in again, presses himself up against Pat to kiss him deep and wet and messy and Pat moans into it. He'd let go of his legs if he could, wrap his arms around Jonny and hold him there, but Jonny's got him completely pinned in place. It's a good feeling, almost as good as the way that Jonny's dick is grinding deep inside him. 

And then Jonny eases off, pulls back, lets go of Pat's dick. Pat makes a whimpering sound, desperate, but before he can really even react Jonny thrusts in again, so hard Pat sees stars.

"God," he grits out. "Just — yeah —"

"Stay," Jonny whispers, and moves back again. "Don't move." 

Pat trembles with it, all his muscles in overdrive, fingers clenched tight around himself as he fights to keep his legs up without Jonny weighing down on him. The sound he makes when Jonny pulls all the way out of him is not dignified.

"Jonny," he protests, barely recognizing his own voice for how wrecked it sounds.

Jonny runs a hand down his side, and Pat _trembles_.

"Shhh, baby," he says, quiet. "Just wanna turn you over. Can you do that for me?"

Pat nods, shaky, loosens his fingers from where they're clenched around his thighs.

It takes more effort than it should to get Pat onto his front, like he's lost control of all his limbs. He's shaky on his knees and elbows but Jonny just laughs gently, pushes on the small of Pat's back until he gives in, folds onto his stomach with his face buried in his arms. Jonny drapes himself over Pat's back, like some sort of weighted blanket, his dick nestled neatly in the seam of Pat's ass. The zipper of his jeans scratches against Pat every time he moves; it feels amazing.

Pat's own dick is pressed against the bed, and the change from no pressure at all to the whole of Jonny weighing him down is almost too much; he's already oversensitive, and he hasn't even come yet.

"You look so good like this," Jonny says, low, right in Pat's ear. His breath fans warm over Pat's face. "He can't stop staring at you, you know that? He wants you so bad. I don't blame him — I'd want you too. If you. Weren't. Mine." He punctuates each word with a thrust of his hips, and he's not even inside Pat for real but Pat's biting down on his own arm to keep from keening.

Pat pleads out Jonny's name; he's not sure it's even audible but it must be enough because then Jonny is moving behind him. Slowly, slowly, he pushes in again, and Pat lets out a broken sob. 

"That's right," Jonny says. "So good for me, Pat. So good." He's braced over Pat's back, head tipped forward into his shoulder blades, his hips moving slowly but forcefully enough that Pat keeps getting jolted up the bed. Jonny's dick drags relentlessly over his prostate and Pat has a brief moment of clarity where he thinks he might actually die of overstimulation before he gets a chance to come.

"Do you want him to touch you?" Jonny asks. "He wants to, you know."

Pat tries to lift his head up from the bed, tries to turn and look at Dylan, but he can't quite manage it. Fortunately Jonny keeps talking, doesn't demand an answer from him: "He's being good, you know that? For me, but mostly for you. He wants to touch you, he's hoping I'll let him. Do you want him, Pat? In you? Like this?"

One of his hands comes up to tangle in Pat's hair. He doesn't pull hard enough to hurt, not really, but his grip is firm enough to tilt Pat's head to the side. "Look at him, baby," he whispers in Pat's ear. "Look how much he wants you."

When Pat opens his eyes he can see just how right Jonny is; Dylan's barely still sitting on the chair he's leaning so far forward, his entire body wound tight with tension. Pat knows the feeling. Their eyes lock, and Dylan's widen in what looks like shock.

"I —" That's all Pat manages before his words dissolve into moans, his orgasm crashing through him. It seems too sudden for how long he's been building up to it; it seems like it's never going to end. His whole body spasms feebly against the sheets. 

Jonny kisses up his spine, his neck, noses into his hairline. "That's so good," he whispers. "You're perfect for me." Pat's dick gives another valiant twitch, still somehow leaking. 

He's dazed, not even close to coming down yet, when Jonny starts moving inside him again. It _hurts_ , feels like every part of him can feel every tiny movement Jonny makes, right down to his bones. He knows if he asks, Jonny would stop. He doesn't ask.

It's a few more thrusts before Jonny stills above him, all his powerful muscles tensing, holding him in place where he's shoved deep inside Pat. He groans, low and long, and Pat feels that down to his bones, too. Jonny inside him like this, coming, feels like nothing else, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut, bury his face in the sheets just to try and block out some of the sensation. It's so much, every time.

"Jonny," he says, his voice cracking.

"Yeah, Peeks." Jonny's grunting more than talking, moving away from Pat, pulling slowly out of him. Pat whimpers again as he feels the very last of Jonny's come warm against his hole when Jonny comes to rest just outside of him. Jonny's panting, loud in the quiet of the room. "Fuck," he says, but he sounds happy. "Fuck."

He kisses Pat's neck one more time before he pulls away for real. Pat doesn't move, not really, but he tilts his head a little so he can see Jonny get off the bed, tuck his softening dick away, straighten his shoulders. He's looking down at Pat, and he's still panting a little, still sweaty, but his expression is so soft.

Pat knows that Dylan is still in the room, that this isn't really the time for _romance_ , but he can't help but feel it a little anyway. And really, if Dylan's letting his guard down, thinking Jonny is _nice_ , that's probably best for what comes next.

Jonny's bare feet don't really make any sound on the hardwood and Pat's eyes have slipped shut again, but he can tell anyway when Jonny makes his way back to Dylan. He can just barely hear his voice, isn't really listening. The sheets are soft against his skin, even if he's lying in his own wet spot and not really inclined to move.

He loves this part, sore and satisfied, the feeling of come leaking out of his ass; Jonny used to tease him about it, saying that was how he knew Pat was a bottom. As if the way Pat's ass had clenched around his dick, milking him dry, wasn't proof enough, the way he fit in there smooth and easy. As if Pat wasn't easy enough, when it came to Jonny. 

"What," Dylan says, loud enough for Pat to hear. His voice is flat, affectless; he's arguing, but he's not really protesting.

"You heard me," Jonny says. Pat can hear the amusement in his tone; he's not sure if Dylan can. "You said you wanted this. Did you change your mind?"

Dylan's breath catches. "I — you didn't say. That's just. Uh."

"Just what?" Jonny says. Now he _definitely_ sounds amused. Pat cracks an eye open; Jonny's standing behind Dylan again, looming over him, which is probably very intimidating since Dylan can't see the way Jonny is grinning at Pat, rolling his eyes a little.

"Just a little …" Dylan trails off. He looks sheepish; he's worrying at his own lower lip. He keeps looking over at Pat and then looking away just as quickly, never quite meeting his eyes. "Nothing," he says finally. "Yeah. I want this. I'm in."

"You better be," Pat says. It's not quite the witty rejoinder he was going for, especially with how fucked-out he sounds, but there must be something to his voice that makes Dylan's eyes go wide like that.

Jonny puts a hand on Dylan's shoulder and Dylan startles. His eyes are trained on Pat now, his tongue barely darting out to wet his lips. He swallows heavily. It maybe should be a little embarrassing how into it Pat is when Jonny's grip on Dylan's shoulder tightens, when Dylan _shivers_ in response, but whatever; Pat knows what he likes.

"Get over there, then," Jonny says. He's quiet but firm. "Tell him what you're going to do to him."

It takes a second for Dylan to stand up, to unfold himself from the way he'd contorted himself into the kitchen chair. Pat takes a moment to appreciate the way his t-shirt does nothing to disguise his shoulders, and then another moment to appreciate the way his sweatpants do nothing to disguise anything else. 

"Should I …" Dylan hesitates, plucks at the hem of his t-shirt instead of finishing his sentence. He's facing Jonny now, but his eyes keep darting over to Pat. 

The smile Jonny directs at Dylan is far, far less fond than the ones he'd been giving Pat. It's verging on predatory. "I don't think that will be necessary," he says smoothly. Dylan swallows again, heavily enough for Pat to see.

Jonny just inclines his head toward the bed and that's all it takes for Dylan to get moving. Pat considers himself pretty lucky for how often he gets to see Jonny giving orders, and people following them, just in the general scheme of things. But this is … this is particularly nice.

It only takes a couple strides for Dylan to make it over to the bed. Pat's still got his head half-buried in the sheets, but he manages to nod enough for it to be an invitation. "Sit," he offers, just in case.

Jonny's bed is big. Even sitting hesitantly on the edge of it, Dylan is pretty far away.

He's gotten a lot better over the years, but Pat is very well aware that he's not the _most_ patient person. But — it's fine. He can wait. Dylan will be very close, soon enough.

Sure enough, it's not even a minute before he rearranges himself on the bed, behind Pat, straddling the casual spread of his legs. Pat can't see him from this angle, but he can feel the worn fabric of Dylan's sweats against his knees, can feel the edgy way he shifts his weight back and forth. Maybe feeling anxious; maybe getting comfortable. And he can see Jonny: sitting in the chair now, watching Dylan with an inscrutable expression.

Dylan clears his throat, but he doesn't say anything. Pat settles himself into the bed, head on his arms again, barely able to see Jonny over the crook of his elbow. He's not sure how well Jonny can see him from this angle but he smiles at him anyway, then lets his eyes slip shut.

He's just considering trying some of those deep breathing exercises when Dylan finally speaks.

"Tazer got you all messy," he says. "And I'm going to clean you up." 

His cocksure tone is practiced enough that — well, that Pat's sure he's practiced it. Has he tried to pick up girls like this? Has he _succeeded_? Sometime when Pat's feeling a little more coherent they might have to have a talk.

As it is, it's kind of working for Pat, a little. His dick makes a half-hearted attempt at chubbing up again, but he's definitely not there yet. Still, Dylan all close, in his space, with _intent_ — it's definitely doing something.

Pat thinks about asking if he's done this before, but he's pretty sure the answer is no, and he doesn't want to put him on the defensive. Besides, honestly, Pat's pretty easy for this; the first time Jonny ate him out, he'd never done it before either, and it easily ranks up there as one of the top orgasms of Pat's entire life. Of course, that was _Jonny_.

Still, if Dylan going to be that cocky, damned if Pat can't match him. "You think you got this?" he asks. It doesn't come out quite as challenging as Pat had maybe hoped for, with the way his face is half-buried in the bedsheets, but the dismissive noise Dylan makes in response is pretty satisfying anyway.

Pat startles at the first touch of Dylan's thumb up against his hole — not pressing in, just swiping through Jonny's come. It's drying, going sticky, but that doesn't do anything to dull the sensation. Pat's still so _sensitive_.

"You like that?" Dylan asks. He says it more like it's cheap porn dialogue than like he's genuinely inquiring as to Pat's preferences, but it's a step in the right direction. And his voice is — nice, like this, all dark with intent.

And then he does press in, just a little, with the tip of his thumb, and Pat exhales sharply. 

"Dylan," Jonny says, and his voice is very even but Dylan seems to take it for the warning it is. Pat can't help the disappointed noise that slips out of him along with Dylan's thumb.

Then he can feel Dylan moving behind him, resituating; he can feel the bed shift as Dylan leans in. He can feel Dylan's breath fan across his ass.

"Can I —" Dylan says, and he must be asking Jonny because Pat doesn't have to say anything before Dylan's fingers make hesitant purchase on his skin, smoothing over his ass. Pat pushes up, just a little, into the touch.

The first touch of Dylan's tongue is even more uncertain than his hands had been. Pat can feel how shaky his breathing is — there's that question answered, then — but he can also feel the moment Dylan finds his resolve. He breathes hot over Pat's balls before licking his way up from his perineum. 

(Pat can remember the first time Jonny did this to him — not just ate him out but this specifically, came in his ass and then licked him clean. He'd been more into it than either of them had expected, and Pat had chirped him for it, saying it was just because his jizz was all-organic. He'd spanked Pat's ass for that, just once but hard enough that the color didn't fade right away. They'd gotten distracted.)

It takes a moment for Dylan to find his stride but before long he's going for it, practically slurping at Pat's ass like he's thirsty for it. He's leaving Pat wet, _messy_ , but he can't even pretend he's not into it. It's taking a lot of effort to not just shove his ass back into Dylan's mouth; as it is, he knows he's not being as quiet as he could be. 

When Dylan actually works his tongue _into_ Pat's ass, Pat keens. Dylan pulls out right away — to _laugh_ , the fucker, muffled against Pat's skin but still clearly audible. "You like that?" he says again, and it's teasing this time. His grip on Pat's ass tightens. "Gonna make this good for you, Patty."

"Yeah," Pat pants out, and then, "Dylan." He knows how helpless he sounds. He looks at Jonny, desperate; Jonny smiles back. He looks pleased, slouching low in the chair with his legs spread comfortably. It almost looks like he might be hard again, but that might be wishful thinking on Pat's part.

He could get fucked again tonight, if he wants to, he knows — they'd talked about it. He and Jonny had talked about it; he doesn't know what Jonny had talked to Dylan about, in the living room for what seemed like endless minutes as Pat fingered himself in Jonny's bed. But he and Jonny had discussed limits ahead of time: Did Pat want Dylan to fuck him? Did he want Dylan to kiss him? (Maybe, Pat had said, to the latter: "Maybe after. I want him to taste like you." Jonny had made a noise that seemed shocked out of him and pushed Pat down to the bed, kissed him till he couldn't breathe.)

But he's not sure if he wants to. He could take it, sure; it would feel good. They've got a day off tomorrow. But he's not sure if he's ready to give Dylan that, not yet.

Dylan's moving over him again, mouth hot on the thin skin of Pat's balls, and Pat tilts his head further, makes desperate eye contact with Jonny as he whimpers.

_I love you_ , Jonny mouths, just as Dylan licks his way back inside Pat's ass again. 

" _Fuck_ ," Pat says, or something like it. His hips jerk involuntarily against the bed. He hadn't even realized that he was getting hard again but he definitely is; multiple orgasm nights aren't very common these days, but it might be happening. Dylan Strome. Go figure.

Jonny's up and moving before Pat can even process it, crouching next to the bed. He reaches out, touches Pat's face. Pat nuzzles into his hand, whines a little. The bed dips as Jonny eases himself onto it.

"How are you doing," Jonny whispers. His fingers trace Pat's lips, and Pat opens his mouth just slightly to mouth at his fingertips. Jonny could fuck his mouth, if he wanted — with his fingers, with his dick; Pat wouldn't protest. But he doesn't, just keeps touching Pat's face softly.

"Patrick," Jonny says, his voice a little firmer this time. "I asked you a question. How are you doing?"

"I'm —" Pat says, and he means to say _good_ , has every intention of it, but Dylan is fucking him with his tongue, slow and deep, and for a moment Pat can't think to say anything at all. After a moment he gasps out, "Good. It's — really good, Jonny."

Jonny smiles at him, and the hand that's not on Pat's cheek winds into his hair. He doesn't really pull but he gets a grip, tugs Pat's head up just slightly. Just enough so that he can lean in and kiss him. Pat moans into it, desperate, but Jonny keeps it soft and light. His tongue isn't even in Pat's mouth but Dylan's tongue is in his ass and it's too much all of a sudden. Pat's hips jerk convulsively.

His second orgasm isn't nearly as strong as his first but it still feels like a punch to the gut. He can hear Jonny saying something to Dylan but he's not sure what it is; the world is buzzing a little bit. Dylan eases off, though, pulls away with a wet sound that Pat somehow can hear, can feel just as much.

Jonny kisses him again, and then he pulls away too — Pat's adrift on the bed, suddenly, as they both get off of it. It takes some effort but he manages to roll over onto his side; he barely keeps himself from making a grabby gesture at Jonny, and probably would if they were alone, but as it is he restrains himself.

"I'll be right back," Jonny promises, and the last thing Pat sees before he lets his eyes slip shut is Jonny's arm slung low and possessive around Dylan's waist, leading him out of the bedroom.

He dozes, he thinks, a little bit before Jonny gets back, just enough to be grumbly about it when Jonny makes him get up so he can change the sheets. He pads into the ensuite naked, turning the lights on low; he'll walk into the cabinets if he's not careful, but he doesn't really want to see the state his hair must be in right now, nevermind the rest of him. 

He should take a shower, probably, but he's too tired to do more than get a hand towel wet and wipe himself down. He leaves it on the sink; he hasn't been able to convince Jonny yet that the convenience of a hamper in the bathroom outweighs the bad feng shui or whatever.

"Did you put Stromer in an Uber?" he asks, walking back into the bedroom. Jonny's turned off all the lights but the one on the nightstand and gotten in bed, covers turned down invitingly. He's definitely shirtless and presumably naked under the blankets, which is also inviting.

Jonny shakes his head. "He's in the guest room," he says. "We'll get breakfast in the morning."

Pat climbs into bed, leans over to flip off the last light. He doesn't need to be able to see Jonny (who is definitely naked) to tuck himself up against his side; Jonny doesn't need to see him to wrap an arm around him, pulling him close.

"'Kay," Pat says sleepily. "Take him on your run if you want; I'm sleeping in. I'll hit the gym in the afternoon," he says, before Jonny can even protest. Jonny laughs, and presses a kiss to the top of Pat's head. 

"Did he —" Pat hesitates, not quite sure what question he means to ask.

Jonny chuckles again, low and warm. "He was definitely into it. I'd say he's jerking off right now except he looked like he was on a hair-trigger; he's probably already done. I think this is going well."

Pat snorts appreciatively. "Good," he says, which he hope conveys his dual emotions of _when do your plans not go well?_ and _well obviously, who doesn't want a piece of this_. Maybe those aren't emotions, per se. Either way he's too sleepy to have any real conversation right now.

He's just started to fall asleep, for real this time, when Jonny starts talking. "I liked it, you know, watching you with him. I wasn't sure, but — you looked good. I liked seeing you."

"Great," Pat mumbles into Jonny's chest. He yawns, big enough that it gets caught in his throat and he has to swallow it down and try again. "Lemme film it next time. Then you can —" he yawns again "— wh'n'ver you wan'."

Jonny laughs again. "Love you, Peeks," he says. "Good night."

"Love you," Pat whispers. Or he thinks he says it, at least, before he's out like a light, faster than he usually falls asleep. He means to say it, anyway. He definitely means it.

**Author's Note:**

> seducerhymeswithdeduce: fucking watch patrick kane get a mirror installed above his bed for this express purpose. "Well YOU were the one who said we couldn't film anything!"  
> me: honestly if patrick kane does not have a mirror installed above his bed irl i will be shocked


End file.
